I wrote this in 2002, revised and renewed it in 2004. It is the kind of subject that has no ending for all that is still wrong and all that is yet to be done. It is now 2019. My former doctor has it framed and on the wall.

To The Doctor Who Examines Me👨‍🔬

I was thinking that this body is a unit, and
If you don’t see a pattern
In the portions that go wrong
Then perhaps you’re sitting in a chair
To which you don’t belong:
Too tired, young or not attentive.

How I wish you’d see all symptoms
As an ocean bowl,
With rivulets connecting whole
To dams and sluices where the juices,
Pebbles, stones are formed within,
All kith and kin to one another.
It is plain that pain or pressure
Down a leg has a connection to the hip,
The pelvis, stomach, large intestine. Let’s not skip
The knuckle bumps, hard private lumps
With their connection to the rest:
Cholesterol and stressed out parts
In hearts not happy pumping.

Always working to your best.
To fix a system that will not dissect –
One hard to see: a one-in-many,
And God knows hard diagnosed.

Yet it is your job to cure,
Find sense, be sure—which can’t be done
Unless you see the parts-in-one
Which, failing to do
Means you’re still too
Young and blind,
Or just not paying mind
Enough attention.